


A Horse is Human

by Predatrix



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Anal Sex, Centaurs, Frottage, M/M, magical accident, pseudo-bestiality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-13 00:26:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5687503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Predatrix/pseuds/Predatrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I put up a prompt on the kinkmeme about wish-magic that turned out to interest nobody but me.</p><p>So I wrote an accidental transformation story.</p><p>Title from <i>Catcher in the Rye:</i> "I'd rather have a goddam horse. A horse is at least <i>human,</i> for God's sake."</p><p>"Pseudo-bestiality" because I don't consider the determinant what the participants look like but level of sapience and consent. A fantastic creature that is emotionally and intellectually human should certainly not be considered a "beast"!</p><p>However, because of grey consent issues (not sure if a centaur reacting to a mare in heat can be considered to consent to human sex, also Mr Norrell is in a position of not only authority but greater agency than this Childermass) the interspecies acts are restricted to dreams and fantasies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Horse is Human

Childermass looked rather unnerving as a centaur, much more half-wild even than usual.

He was a similar colour in his horse-half, sort of dirty-pale with a long tangled tail to go with his human "mane". His human half looked good, just the way that Mr Norrell...hadn't spent much time thinking about, plenty of body hair, muscular arms and a quite impressive prick. Mr Norrell kept sneaking glances and looking away fast. 

It just went to show that the most casual and momentary thoughts could have horrendous consequences. He just might have had an idle moment wondering if Childermass was really equipped like a horse, and then the association of ideas led him to think of Childermass riding (and his lovely thighs clamped onto the big, strong animal between his legs, and what else could have been between his legs), and _now_ look what had happened! It must be a Wishing Day. Following the misunderstanding by various Fairies of exactly how religion worked (their idea was, "like magic only more so"), certain saints' days had become very strongly associated with wishes devoted to different things, because after all, what was a prayer but a certain sort of wish. Following the success of the Protestant faith, people were less likely to remember the days or the meanings or the saints, but sometimes this sort of thing happened, particularly to magicians or people they knew. And today, he seemed to remember, was St. Francis's day. Not a good time for wishes vaguely involving animals to be flying about near a magician, let alone England's pre-eminent magician. Of course, if the Fairies had had a better concept of religion, they would be better-regulated, and they certainly would not have been so careless as to fling pagan ideas like centaurs all over the place. 

Childermass rolled his eyes in an even more exaggerated way than usual as he realised that no, he was not dreaming, and yes, something magical had happened and was probably the fault of his master. 

Mr Norrell explained to him what had happened, and that he was sorry. 

"Why did it happen in the first place...sir?"

"I may have been thinking about you. And horses. On a Wishing Day. And it mayhavegotconfused," Mr Norrell mumbled. 

Childermass looked incredulous. 

"...and, in short, it was a mistake that could happen to anyone," he concluded. "I hope very much that it has not lowered your opinion of my abilities, Childermass."

Childermass snorted, for some reason, and said his opinion of Mr Norrell's command of magic remained very much as it had been.

There was a knock on the door. Mr Norrell put off Hannah with the tea for a moment, feeling glad Childermass had left his coat behind the door where the transformation would not have affected it. Childermass knelt down behind the desk, and Mr Norrell gave him his coat to put round him, not even grudging the dampness coming near his desk (well, not much, anyway). 

Hannah did not appear to notice any difference in height, although Mr Norrell thought it wasn't quite the same, but she sniffed twice, and said in a low voice, "Mr Childermass, did you come in from the stable to the library?"

Childermass said, "Don't worry, the master wanted me to come in with my information straight away." He brushed his coat's damp sleeves carefully away from the desk. 

She set down the tea and left. 

Childermass could drink his tea quite naturally in this position, and both of them found the break useful, as Mr Norrell tried to think about transformation-spells, and (he assumed) Childermass tried to work out how he might get on with life like this in the mean time. 

"Is there anything else you wish to know about your current situation?" said Mr Norrell. 

"Well, I don't even know whether to eat dinner or hay," said Childermass,

Mr Norrell carefully led him to the third-best dining room (which was very little in use) and called for an excellent dinner of roast fowl, which they had between them. This seemed to cheer up Childermass somewhat, and Mr Norrell made a mental note to make sure he had good food in future. Childermass's work, and the risks he was running (like being turned into a centaur) were quite uncommon, and he himself could afford to sweeten the deal by offering better food than was probably available in the servants' quarters. And after all, Childermass wasn't precisely a servant. 

On the way from the dining-room back to the more-frequented parts of the Abbey, they almost bumped right into Lucas. To Mr Norrell's amazement, he did not seem to notice Childermass. To his further amazement, nor did he himself. When he looked back at Childermass, he could see the man's face looming out of the shadows, but merely had an impression of his normal dark clothes. He looked a question. 

"People see what they expect to see, sir." Which left him pondering all sorts of uncomfortable questions about what he himself had seen when Childermass was bent over a book in the library, and what Childermass could have been learning. 

"Have you been performing...magic, Childermass?"

"Would I dare such a thing?" Childermass favoured him with his long, insolent grin. "I have never looked into your books, sir. When I realised they were powerful, and you trusted me with your library, I protected them, and you." His tone clearly conveyed, _And now look at me!_

"Then what did you do?"

"Suggestion works, at least without full light on what you're trying to hide. If a person has no reason to suspect an unlikely truth, they may well miss it. And no, I don't really have any idea whether it's magic, all's I can tell you is it didn't come from a book, and I didn't do it consciously."

They went to the stable, then. Childermass had what apparently appeared to his new form as a refreshing drink of water (although he entirely disdained the horse-trough and its dirt in favour of a clean bucket) but did not seem to want to eat hay. He reported it smelt curiously like fresh bread in his new form, but his human mouth and throat were too tender to manage it. 

"I'd better sleep in here," he said. 

"I would never make you, especially since I may be the author of your predicament," said Mr Norrell. 

"Oh? And how might I use a chamber pot, should I feel the need?" Childermass snorted at him. "No, I'll do well enough in here. I've slept where my horse sleeps often enough, on the road, or if I don't trust the ostlers or stable-boys wi' my mount. I'm more concerned with who will be the first one to the stable if you have a lie-in. I don't especially want to explain all this to Davey."

Mr Norrell went to check his books, and managed to work up a spell of illusion. "I've tidied up your looks, as a horse, to make you look a little less rough. You'll appear as quite a nice, strong bay gelding, to any of the staff. I'll tell them I'm thinking of taking up riding again..."

Childermass snorted. "At your age!"

"...and I need a sober mount."

"Hang on, did you say 'gelding'?" Childermass sounded furious. 

"It's the most practical way of discouraging people from _actually_ gelding you. I don't think anyone's going to be completely confident I can handle a full-grown stallion with a mind of his own."

What with Childermass's mysterious suggestion that all was normal indoors, and Mr Norrell's spell to make sure he was seen as a horse outdoors, things went on pretty much as one might expect. They spent most of the days in the library. Childermass got on with sorting through Mr Norrell's letters. Meanwhile Mr Norrell tried to find good spells for safe transformation.

One day, Childermass rolled his eyes at him in an even more marked way than usual, and said, "You're just sitting about while I open your letters. How do I know this isn't an excuse for making me deal with your correspondence for six hours a day. Sir," he added, as an afterthought. 

"If that was what I required I would hire a personal secretary and he would perform his duties _without complaint,_ Childermass," said Mr Norrell. 

"And instead you're sitting here with me, enjoying your reading while I do the day-to-day paperwork you hate, without you having to worry about a secretary stealing your work," said Childermass. "Don't try to fool me about wanting to deal with that."

Mr Norrell smiled, a little reluctantly. "You are right that almost all my correspondence appears designed to weary and frustrate me," he said, "and that the sort of pushing young man who would put himself forward as a secretary might want to use my work to make his own name." He paused. "You are not that sort of man, I think twenty-five years is a reasonable time to take an account of your character."

"That mean you're grateful, does it?" said Childermass, switching his tail in a slightly annoyed fashion. 

Mr Norrell, who thought that that went without saying, said, "You are quite wrong if you believe I've been indulging myself in the mere pleasure of casual reading. I'm sure I have no idea why you might think so."

"Starting with you sitting there in a comfortable chair by the fire, with a cup of hot sweet chocolate on a table to one side, and three large books at the other, and no notes... If they knew that books were your very favourite diversion, sir, somebody might easily mistake you for a person bent on pleasure, instead of a person working hard."

"I do my normal work, including the notes," said Mr Norrell, "when I am performing or researching practical magic. I make no doubt you've heard me speak of Sutton-Grove. My normal work involves safe, sane _modern_ magic that is not mired in the superstitions of the past."

"Yes, sir. I've heard you speak of it," said Childermass, before he could really get started on that. 

"However, transformations are not that sort of magic. I'm currently being put to the trouble of ruling out the many spells which seem likely to introduce an irregularity." Mr Norrell sighed. "Some of these people seem to have had no concern that they were writing for posterity at all, and trying to discern between "casually-written but basically accurate" and "dangerously slipshod" without actually casting the spell and possibly putting you in further danger is really quite hard work." 

"I apologise for misjudging you, sir," said Childermass, as if he meant it. But he went to look out of the window before going on with his work. He had not done that before; certainly Mr Norrell had no memories of reprimanding him for wool-gathering in his earlier years. 

After a few days of seeing Childermass sulky and complaining every morning and looking longingly out of the window, Mr Norrell thought he had an idea what the trouble was. He was determined to help. He cudgelled his wits for thoughts of who else could be trusted with the truth--he even asked Childermass, who told him not to do it under any circumstances because he got on well with the other servants but he didn't want to let anyone see him this way. 

"I was taught to ride when I was a boy, but I make no doubt I was but an indifferent rider then, and shall be worse now," said Mr Norrell. "But we should try it for your health."

So Childermass showed him where to find an old but serviceable saddle, and they tried it. 

Mr Norrell had forgotten how nervous he felt at horse-height off the ground, and almost swallowed his heart in shock when Childermass began to move. 

Childermass told him to use his heels to communicate, just as one would with a proper horse. Words were slower, and he doubted Mr Norrell was going to have much breath, now he was learning a very physical skill. "So keep your heels out unless you want to say stop or go--remember that's a suggestion rather than an order--and keep your knees and your toes tighter in. No, I said, 'tighter in', that doesn't mean a death-grip, sir."

"I was taught to hang on with my legs," said Mr Norrell. 

"Well, that explains a lot," said Childermass. "Try to balance with the whole of your body and move when the horse--that is, me--moves." 

The next thing was how to modify a bit and reins for this new situation. Childermass was definite about not wanting anything in his mouth, and about feeling doubtful about a method of direction designed for animals. "It's not easy, sir. The way you do it with a horse is designed for more speed than you'd get trying to communicate in words, but it's also designed for the rider knowing better." He paused. "In this case, I ought to lead, because I know a sight more about riding and where I'm going than you do. But nobody's really ever set up for the rider knowing sod-all and the horse knowing everything. Maybe with a beginning rider, it's a bit like this, but the rider is always supposed to be the one with the ultimate power of reason."

They worked out some hand-grips, tied on (with the aid of Norrell's magic) so that Mr Norrell's hands stayed in place but he could release them with a word if necessary. So Mr Norrell held in his place with his hands, and his legs, and his balance, which made the whole thing work better. 

After a while, they set up some vocal signals. This was more designed for warning Mr Norrell of hard going ahead, or jumps, or fording a beck, than it was for Mr Norrell telling Childermass about anything. 

After some time at it, Mr Norrell demanded to know if he was getting any better, and Childermass said he _might_ learn to have a seat slightly less like a sack of potatoes given time. 

In the worst weather, Childermass wore his greatcoat awkwardly tied at the front, that being one of the few things he could wear with his change in circumstances. 

So around dawn most mornings Mr Norrell would mount Childermass (after the first few times he stopped being embarrassed or aroused by the suggestive idea) and thump slowly down the road until he felt bruised and somewhat ill.

After a while, as Mr Norrell could maintain sufficient balance, Childermass could let his pace out and get some proper exercise. Childermass's temper appeared to be greatly improved by this. 

Against that, Childermass's relations with Brewer had soured. Although both Childermass and Mr Norrell had believed that he might even almost 'speak' to the horse now they were united by species, Brewer appeared to find him deeply unnatural and uncanny. His nostrils widened, and he whinnied, and threatened to raise a hoof to him, which he probably had not since Childermass had first had to do with him. 

Childermass had shouted at Mr Norrell when he tried to express his sympathy. He believed that although Childermass had coped well with a lot of changes, this one might be difficult. 

Then things got worse. There was a pretty little grey mare nearby, and although this was a matter of complete indifference to the human part of Childermass, the horse half took notice, and somehow the man's senses were affected somewhat by what the other half was feeling. 

And Mr Norrell couldn't help taking notice of _him:_ a naked man with two erections, one of which was horse-sized, was certainly not easy to ignore. He'd thought he would never lay eyes on Childermass in any culpable manner, but it was remarkably hard, er, _difficult,_ not to think of centaur-Childermass in such a wicked way. 

Childermass shouted at him again for being a dreadful pervert. He was not entirely sure whether his own erection showed, or whether it was only noticeable that he couldn't take his eyes off it...them. But Childermass had evidently seen something to make him suspect. 

"Believe me, Childermass, I am perfectly aware you're not interested and would never lay a finger on me. But I can't help noticing. Should I get you the mare?" He gulped. The idea of cuddling and maybe seducing a shocked and distressed human Childermass while the horse half worked away behind was interesting. 

Childermass found that idea even worse. Once he thought about it, so did Norrell. It was altogether too close to bestiality. The idea of trying to seduce the back half himself, just in order to touch--well, questions of consent notwithstanding, it would be altogether too dangerous, and he knew he did not want Childermass to hurt him, and Childermass would be very upset if he did. The thought of just rubbing and touching it was pleasant, but, with a mare in heat, he had no idea how much voluntary control Childermass had over the dangerous end. More to the point, he suspected Childermass had no idea either. He supposed he _could,_ in the blackest part of his little heart, actually find a way of holding Childermass still enough for him to have his way with him. If he were to acquire a fairy-servant, it would be the simplest thing in the world. But he disapproved so strongly of doing anything that Childermass did not like, or fairy-servants, he dismissed the idea with a shudder. 

In bed he gave way to a thoroughly reprehensible fantasy, shading into sleep. It started with going to Childermass's sleeping-stall and tying him with ropes as Childermass strained and sweated to be free. Because it was a fantasy, Childermass's hind member was free to move, swaying interestingly, wet and hard, and because it was a fantasy, Mr Norrell could creep up and make friends with the thing without fear of being kicked. He took all his clothes off and rubbed on Childermass happily, and when an outbreak of rationality _(what exactly am I planning to do with something that size?)_ threatened to spoil it, he went up to admire the front half. He was sure he had a quite ridiculous expression on his face. Childermass's fore member wasn't particularly small in comparison to any creature that wasn't a horse, and after a few minutes, Childermass said, "Well? Come on, then!" and Mr Norrell came and rubbed equally greedily on the front. After a while with his arms round him, rubbing frantically, he turned, and then Childermass was fucking him, holding him up with his muscular arms, and he spent, suddenly imagining Childermass's hind prick filling him. 

Then, of course, he woke up, sticky and irritable, and spent the rest of the dark of the small hours gloomily listing every detail of the fantasy that made it impossible, impracticable, unethical and simply wrong, before settling in to remember all the details he'd read about transformations. Most were caused by fairies, and a few by absent-minded magicians. Since it was an incomplete and particularly magical transformation, it should prove easier to handle. Beast-transformations, that is, when the other creature had no human characteristics and no power of speech, were harder because it was impossible (or nearly impossible) to reach the victim, and the characteristics of the form were fighting the magician all the way. There was no doubt that Childermass was massively inconvenienced by his current shape, and wanted to be restored. Will and intent would always affect the result, whether or not the person was a magician. Although he rather regretted his desire not to permit another magician; if he had taught Childermass somewhat, the two of them would probably have sorted the problem out in a couple of days. 

So once he got up, and they'd gone for their morning constitutional, he concentrated on finding something useful to do, while he left Childermass in a quiet field with a book to read on the subject of estate management (to be honest, despite their respective classes, Childermass did a lot more of that than he did). 

When he came back, Childermass sounded rather impressed. "Davey came out and offered me an apple, talking to me just as though I were a horse," he reported. "I was standing right there reading a book and he was convinced I wasn't doing anything unnatural for a horse. So that spell of yours works quite well."

Mr Norrell tried to convey, "well, of course it does! All my spells work excellently!" He was nearly convinced this was the case most of the time. He explained what he was going to be doing with the transformation-spell, and led him indoors, with Childermass using his trick to make sure nobody could see him. They went to the library, since nobody would disturb them there without knocking. 

Mr Norrell started on the best shape-restoring spell he could find. 

It did not work. In fact, it transformed Childermass into the most irritable cat in Yorkshire. He was black, scruffy and had yellow eyes. This was not right! A transformation into a magical creature should only be able to cross to the original form or another magical creature of human-like intelligence, not to a natural beast!

After a moment, he realised the cat had gleaming blue-black wings mantling from its back, and was laughing at him. Well, that explained that! Transformations being so slippery, though, he'd missed his chance for today. 

Coming closer than ever to the dangerous end of a cat almost made Mr Norrell run away, but he stiffened his sinews and let the thing approach. Childermass clawed him a little, but he wasn't sure whether it was a commentary on the whole mess or something else. 

Childermass flew up to the top of the curtains, perched there laughing, flew down again, scampered round the room, and eventually brought him a couple of dead mice. As he stood over them, purring, with a slight air of "see how useful I can be!" Childermass was still. Mr Norrell gingerly petted him on the head, stepped back, and released that spell. 

Childermass returned to his centaur form. Mr Norrell sighed at a day's effort wasted: transformation-spells were so very untrustworthy it was never a good idea to try more than one in the same day. 

In that night's dream, Childerpuss was still laughing at him. "At least you don't fancy this one!" he miaowed. 

"I couldn't help the...horse thing," he said. "I didn't realise I'd find it quite so...intriguing."

Childerpuss managed to snort at him. "You were dreaming about rubbing yourself all over me."

"How do you know?" Mr Norrell asked, before realising it would have been somewhat more politic to deny all such thoughts. 

Childerpuss got up on his back paws, rubbed his hard little furry head against Mr Norrell's hand, and said, "Magical creatures can walk your dreams. If you made them what they are."

"I cast no sort of spell!" said Mr Norrell indignantly, wiping off the distasteful touch of a cat on his breeches. "I had no intention of transforming you into any sort of magical creature."

"And you were the only magician in fifty miles, and you were thinking about me, and horses," said Childermoggy. "On St Francis's day."

There was a brief silence. 

"Have you figured out how to get me back?" said Childermoggy. 

There was a longer silence. Childerpuss sighed. "If you can't think of anything useful, I'll turn back. I've got the cat in my mind from today, but it's easier to hold shape as the centaur. Can't seem to get back to myself, though."

Childermass returned to his centaur form. Mr Norrell sighed, too: he really was a fine figure of a man. Well, man-like creature. It wasn't just those particular members, but that he was so strong, and muscular, and...

Childermass said, "If you're going to stand there all night with your tongue hanging out, might as well come here for a cuddle."

"Which end?" said Mr Norrell, absent-mindedly. 

"The end as _can_ give you a cuddle, unless you're so interested in my--stallionhood, would you call it?--that you're not bothered with the man."

"I can't help noticing...that, but I'm much more attracted to the man than the horse," Mr Norrell admitted. "How should I do this?"

Childermass said, "I'm so used to standing on my own feet, when I remember what you liked in your dream yesterday, it makes me want to pull you down on a bed and give you a damn good seeing-to." He sighed crossly. "Then I realise I have to stand here like a bloody figurehead."

"Well, how did we do it last night?" Mr Norrell demanded. 

"You weren't thinking much, and I just went along with it," said Childermass. 

"You pulled me up into your arms and did it to me," said Mr Norrell, simply, wishing Childermass would stop talking and start fucking. 

"Yes, and if you'd been thinking about it, you'd have realised I don't have the reach to bend right down t'you, not from this position. Let alone pull you right up here and hammer you."

"But I'd _like_ it!" objected Mr Norrell. Even to his own ears it sounded as if he was whining. 

"Spoilt brat!" muttered Childermass. "All right, get that bale of hay and see if it'll take your weight."

He tried it. It seemed to work, and he wasn't about to start questioning the plausibility of it. Instead, he (with some help from Childermass) dragged it in front and scrambled up on it. It was softer and less scratchy than he expected, and now he was standing up there. 

"D'you expect me to strip you like that?" asked Childermass, so Mr Norrell managed to get all his clothes off, although it might have been easier because he was in a dream. He felt a little embarrassed like this, so dreadfully, visibly wanton, but there he was, a small man, in front of such a big...male. Childermass looked just as he always did, mostly, and when Mr Norrell went on tip-toes for a kiss, it felt warm and very pleasant. It made him want more, so when Childermass grabbed him by the buttocks and pulled him up, he made no objection at all, just put his arms right round Childermass (as far as he could manage) and rubbed against him again. 

Childermass nipped at his neck. "What d'you fancy this time?"

"I don't mind, as long as it's 'more'," he admitted, moving frantically and rhythmically against that hard warm body. 

"Well, I doubt I can manage for long like this," said Childermass. "I'm hauling you up here, and you're not taking any of the weight."

"Put me down, then."

Mr Norrell made a comfortable 'bed' out of his clothes on the hay-bale, and lay down on them. "Can you reach me like this?" The hay crackled under him as he settled his weight, and he sighed in satisfaction as Childermass's hands came down on him, warming his chilly skin. Stroking him all over. 

"I like you this way," said Childermass. "You go all pink and warm when I get you interested. Want me to use my hands like this?"

"Mm," said Mr Norrell, vaguely.

"Or use my mouth?"

That got Mr Norrell really interested. Nobody had done that to him before, and it wasn't something people could practice on their own (certainly he wasn't quite...bendy enough). "Yes, please!"

"You _would_ choose the one option where I have to bend down most," muttered Childermass. 

"But I'd be happy with anything, really," said Mr Norrell. 

"I should memorise _that_ for later," said Childermass, with a snort. "You're not  
that willing to accept what people give you in the daytime. It's your way or nothing, usually." But he bent down and kissed Mr Norrell very lightly on the tip of his prick.

"Please!"

Childermass brought his mouth down there again, opened it, slid his wet mouth over the tip and part of the shaft. He pulled off gently and breathed on him, which made Mr Norrell moan disgracefully. He kept going, alternating sucking and breathing on him, long sucks alternated with briefer pauses for breath. At about the third or fourth time (he was losing count) he decided he _really_ didn't want to finish just from being breathed on. At the next deep suck, Mr Norrell held Childermass's head still and spent in his mouth, groaning with the relief of it. 

Childermass came up for air. "That was what you wanted?"

"Oh, yes." He let himself drift, happily, until Childermass said, "Come here, then"

He kissed him, gratefully, and then Childermass said, "My turn now."

"This is a really strange dream," said Mr Norrell, but he was feeling far too satisfied to keep a grip on why this was the case, and let Childermass roll him over and move him, and bunch more of the hay under him while he went up more on his hands and knees. 

Childermass fucked him, as if he was trying to be careful but just too eager to hold back, making noises suggestive of wanting it very badly. Mr Norrell encouraged him, realising part of the way through that he wasn't only feeling generous. "Come on, I'm ready again!" he panted, and Childermass said, "I don't have to stop what I'm doing and handle you _again,_ do I?"

"No, I'll do myself, just keep going!"

So Childermass went on, and made more noises, and took his pleasure in a fierce, jolting rush. 

"Can you hold still?" Mr Norrell kept touching himself, stroking and rubbing and thinking about how exciting it was having Childermass in him. He sighed blissfully as he finished, hot and sweating but very satisfied. 

"That do you all right?" said Childermass, and Mr Norrell remembered he was in an awkward position because of having to bend down. 

Mr Norrell didn't open his eyes. "Mm. You can stop now, if you like."

Childermass removed his person from Mr Norrell's. 

"Now I want you to lie down and cuddle up," said Mr Norrell, lying down himself. 

"Well, _that_ isn't going to happen! I'm a centaur," objected Childermass. 

"And it's _my_ dream!" said Mr Norrell.

Childermass laughed at him. "Haven't you noticed yet? Don't I sound more like me than a figment?" 

Of course, that had been why it was a strange dream. Not only that it carried on past his orgasm, but that Childermass had sounded, well, like _Childermass,_ and that Childermass had told him all sorts of things he hadn't noticed. Maybe when he'd mentioned dream-walking he'd meant this. 

He squinted at Childermass worriedly. "I didn't realise." He felt a little sick. That other time, he'd had Childermass up in _ropes,_ and that was a dreadful thing to do to someone who hadn't agreed. "I did not mean to force you the other time."

"Nor did you," agreed Childermass mildly. "You were having a nice time imagining what it'd be like if we did, and you dropped off to sleep, and somewhere in that bit when it was a dream I turned up in it. Maybe I wouldn't have been up for it if the horse half hadn't made me think of it to start with. But I certainly didn't object to you goggling at me with your tongue hanging out. I doubt I've ever seen you get that excited over anything that isn't a book. So I thought I was having a nice little dream at first, but when you'd come and gone, so to speak, I started thinking maybe it wasn't _my_ dream.

"Oh. Sorry."

"I doubted you were aware of what was happening, but it was just as well to stop." Childermass pulled a face. "It's not going to be very tidy when I wake up. A horse-sized wet dream is probably very wet."

Mr Norrell sighed. "I'd better come over and clean you up, then we can have our ride. Ah...how do we wake up?" 

Childermass laughed. "Call yourself a magician? I'd have thought you know three or four spells to cut free from a dream."

"Well, of course I do! If I were in my library I could lay my hand on any of them I liked, very swiftly."

Instead, Childermass pinched his arm.

"Ouch!" he said, and faded out. 

When he'd got dressed (nowadays he was getting dressed on his own to ride, and looked very untidy indeed) he hurried to the stable. He mucked out Childermass's stall, not mentioning the overwhelming musky smell, and put fresh straw down. 

 

 

 

This time, when he tried the transformation-spell, Childermass turned into a very small dragon, and Mr Norrell strove frantically with various temperature spells. Putting his hands near it, he found it was evidently a fire-dragon rather than a cold-drake, and although he hated cold, fire was such a very dangerous thing! Particularly in a library! He was horrified at the very thought. If this had happened somewhere else, he might have warmed his chilly feet and hands at Childermass's fires, but--not in the library!

"Please, John," he said, "try your hardest not to set fire to the library."

Childermass squinted at him down his long red dragony nose, and Mr Norrell thought it was most unfair that he should be such an unreasonable thing. But Childermass stepped back before he answered, with a little puff of smoke, that he had no intention of doing so. 

Mr Norrell got an obsidian plate down from a shelf where it was doing nothing whatsoever but looking pretty, and put it on the desk. Childermass stood there for a little while until a stray spark almost set fire to one of Mr Norrell's letters. 

Childermass sighed. "Just set me in the hearth, for now. I'll do well enough." Mr Norrell picked up the obsidian plate for ease of conveyance and took him to the hearth. The fire blazed up, but Childermass as a dragon looked quite comfortable in it, all the gleaming bright around his dull red hide. He sighed a flame out as if he'd been holding his breath not to set light to anything. 

So Mr Norrell sat at the desk while Childermass shouted advice from the hearth in a smoky metallic voice, and Mr Norrell made sure the door was locked, and put off Hannah with the tea (she was quite used to being told her master was too busy). 

It was something that Childermass said that put him on the right road. "Well, sir, I don't quite see why you're getting all caught up in all the shape-crafty tricks..."

"Which is why I'm the magician and you're not, Childermass," interrupted Mr Norrell, who could never bear even the mildest correction to his methods. 

"...when if it's a Wishing Day, sir, I'd have thought you'd be looking into wish-magic."

Mr Norrell admitted, grudgingly, that this was a fair point. After releasing the shape-spell with Childermass right in front of the hearth (not near enough for the dragon; too near for the centaur), he got Childermass (who now didn't need a ladder for many of the shelves) to replace six books and take down eight, and disappeared into the depths of his project for the rest of the day. 

"Now, first, I thought to try St Anthony, for finding lost things," said Mr Norrell, when he came back out some hours later in lecturing mode. "That would have been very practical for a restoration. Except that the saint's day is in June, and I doubt either of us are comfortable with this life until then. The best I can do is St Eligius, patron saint of horses and horsemen. His day is the first of December. 'Animals' for St Francis is less-focused, so what with 'horses and horsemen' being more exact, and both of us strongly wishing to see you restored, we have a good chance. I should be able to focus my mind on you as a centaur, and the fact that we need to return you to your proper functions as a man who has to do with horses, not as half-man, half-horse. If you add your wish to mine it should make it more effective."

"What about those dreams of yours, sir?" said Childermass. 

Mr Norrell gulped. 

"I mean," said Childermass, "I'm decorating your dreams as a centaur, and while I wouldn't blame you for your...fancies, I need to know you'll be _able_ to wish me back. Wholeheartedly, I mean," he explained. 

"Of course I will, Childermass, although it'll probably be just as well with you backing me up by wishing as well. I know the difference between fantasy and reality. I know I can't and shouldn't keep you that way--and it's not as though I'm getting to exercise my selfish pleasure with you anywhere but my dreams, in any case." The incident with the mare had passed, and Childermass was back to normal, although he had taken to wearing an awkwardly-arranged and rather grubby loincloth. Mr Norrell resisted any temptation to wistful glances. 

He could not interpret the expression on Childermass's face. He knew enough to realise Childermass probably wasn't going to invite him to bed when he was back to normal, which was a shame because he'd been enjoying this little affair, and would like nothing better than to be able to continue it.

So on St Eligius' day, he wished as hard as he could. He felt the magic 'take', overriding the original muddled feeling with a very definite longing for Childermass in his real body, Childermass with the freedom to ride his own horse, Childermass at liberty to go where he pleased. A horseman with his own horse, not the mixed-up centaur. He felt an additional strength behind it which must have been Childermass adding his own wish. 

There was a loud exclamation of relief and pleasure and pain from Childermass, because since this spell was intentional and fully-realised, it gripped savagely. It didn't last long, though. Childermass seemed oddly diminished as his normal self, just because he wasn't so far off the ground. 

Childermass shook Mr Norrell fast by the hand, which was positively effusive for either of them or between Yorkshiremen, and expressed his intention to go directly to the stable. Evidently he had missed Brewer. "Anything you want from town, sir?" he asked, and Mr Norrell understood he had missed not only his horse but the freedom of riding. He said, "A couple of necklaces, with fairly fine chains we can wear under our clothes. I'm thinking of sorting out some kind of protection for us."

He rather missed Childermass for the next couple of days. Of course it had never been at all unusual for Childermass to be away on an errand, but over the past autumn and early winter he'd grown accustomed to the man's close company from day to day, even in an extraordinary form.

Since missing him made no particular sense, he ignored it and settled in to work. The sensation passed soon enough. 

When Childermass came back, with a useful set of new pens for his master, he looked healthier than he had as a centaur; liberty suited him.

Mr Norrell sat there and trimmed the pens, chatting to Childermass about what riding as a real rider was like (he suspected it was a good deal easier on the bottom than he had found it), and then took his notes on the experience they had just had. Sutton-Grove had a few useful things to say about Fairy wish-magic (although his main instruction evaluated down to "don't"), and although Belasis appeared to be somewhat self-contradictory he might have a few meritorious observations (possibly). Anyway, he would do his best to make them as safe as could reasonably be expected from the hazards of natural magic Fairies had left that any poor fool of a magician could trip and fall into. 

Then he got Childermass to help him make a pair of amulets that would help them avoid such casual dangers. Childermass wore his chain close in, and under a dirty neck-cloth, to avoid both thieves and undue notice. Mr Norrell just slipped his on at an appropriate point in getting dressed. 

Having sorted that threat out, he would have assumed life at Hurtfew would return to normal. 

But even to someone without particular powers of human understanding, like Mr Norrell, Childermass appeared skittish over the next few days. He did not come to sit by the fire with Mr Norrell late at night, as he was previously used to, and Mr Norrell was disappointed because he'd always enjoyed that. He did not help Mr Norrell undress for bed if they were both up late. He never sat close to him any more. 

"Childermass," Mr Norrell said after a week of this, "don't you know me well enough to trust me not to...paw you, or something, against your will?" He twisted his hands and looked down. 

Childermass sighed. "Of course, sir."

Mr Norrell struggled to interpret his tone. It was always harder with few words to work with. "I know you were just being...kind, in the dream. It's entirely my problem if I can't forget it."

Childermass snorted. "I'd swear you have more hair than wit, sometimes, sir, which isn't easy as you don't go in for hair that much. No, I just want to manage without the inevitable disappointment of reality."

"I'd already guessed you weren't designed on equine principles, thank you, Childermass! I can manage without a stallion." The horse half had given him a few naughty, exciting ideas, but was generally more trouble than it was worth. He certainly wouldn't have taken up riding again at his age if he hadn't been trying to help Childermass.

"In dreams, I could forget about the parts of my life that had marked me. I don't want you to see me." Childermass sounded different; not so sure of himself as he usually was.

"Could we do it in the dark?" Mr Norrell suggested. "Then I wouldn't see anything you don't want me to see."

Childermass put his hand on Mr Norrell's. "Thank you. It helps to know you'd actually like to. It's more about the parts of my life before I was in service, not about how I look. Though I make no doubt I'm no beauty in real life!" He laughed. "Your dream didn't show I was tanned and weathered, let alone I've a skinny arse on me and the muscles are more for use than ornament!" Mr Norrell could only think of how attractive Childermass looked when he laughed from plain mirth, not scorn or sarcasm. 

"Come here and sit with me," Mr Norrell suggested, trying not to think too enthusiastically about improving the accuracy of his mental image, and they ended up with Mr Norrell in front, on the stool, and Childermass talking from behind. Mr Norrell always found that easier himself, thinking or talking something difficult out, if not looking someone in the eye.

"How much do you know about my life before I came here?" asked Childermass. 

"Only your references, which were quite good, as I recall." As he'd got to know Childermass, he'd been more and more impressed by how poised and respectable and un-Childermass-ish he seemed on paper. Was there no end to his talents?

"An excellent work of fiction," said Childermass. "I was a pickpocket, for a time, wasn't bad, got too tall. I went to sea, and discovered they didn't want sailors with the sense to know better than their superiors but without the sense to shut up about it. D'you know the phrase 'kissing the gunner's daughter'?"

Mr Norrell did not. "You were caught in a compromising position, Childermass?"

Childermass sighed. "No. It means being bent bare-arsed over the gun, and flogged. If they don't like what you say, or what you do, or the look on your face."

Mr Norrell was somewhat horrified. There had been some physical punishments (which he had contrived to avoid) at his brief sojourn at school before he managed to convince his uncle that school and himself did not suit. He doubted there was anything so extreme as to leave marks for that long. Nor did it seem at all fair to make an issue of the look on one's face. He'd never been able to help that at school, and the masters had called his Thinking Expression "insolence". It had been useful that most of the lessons were (to a studious boy) not exacting, so he didn't have to employ his Thinking Expression too much. It had also been useful that he had not been handsome, or rich, or well-dressed, or possessed of anything anyone else wanted. 

"I hate to think of you being hurt," he said. Knowing how powerful Childermass had appeared as a centaur, it seemed every sort of wrong. 

"So you see my centaur-self, in the dream, all smoothness and flowing muscles,  
was another work of fiction."

"I'd still like to, whether or not you're marked. It doesn't stop me having those feelings for you." He paused. "It doesn't stop me wanting to touch you, to have you. Although I hope I'd have the sense to remember to ask you, in bed, whether you wanted me to touch your back or not. Not to assume I could."

"After being a sailor, I was a whore, for a time," Childermass said bluntly. "So you see I'm no prize. I'm carrying the marks of my past, only some of them on my skin."

"So you're really good at it," said Mr Norrell. "Of course you're not going to want me."

 _"What!?"_ demanded Childermass, getting up and coming round to face him.

"You've done it with lots of people. You know what you're doing--you must be an _expert_ by now," he added bitterly. 

Childermass sighed. "Only you would pick it up that way round."

"Childermass?"

"It's not usually a recommendation. Most people who want whores don't want to bother with expertise. Or kindness. Or knowing what they're doing. The minimum requirement's a body, with two or more holes."

"That's stupid," said Mr Norrell. 

"Or I should add, after that dream, one or more pricks," Childermass smiled, almost shyly. 

"That's still stupid. You'd miss all the kissing and stroking and so on. I like those parts." He did. Even this much of a conversation was getting him interested. He wriggled.

"But you see, you would like me to have experience when you don't," said Childermass gently. "In the dream, you let me lead, and I'd be surprised if you have any experience. And then you'd ask me, and about the only thing I've _got_ experience of is along the lines of hearing, 'Right, you, bend over and don't run away!' In a dream it's all right, sir, because in a dream you don't have to be any way you don't want. I could be confident, and enjoy it, and there was nothing to say 'no, that's not really you, is it'."

"So if your experience of actual copulation is _that_ miserable," said Mr Norrell, "I don't see why we can't enjoy the rest of it." He paused. "I think I should like to kiss you now, please."

"You still want to?" Childermass did sound surprised. 

"Of course. And then I shall want to touch you on all the parts of you that like it, so I shall need to ask you which, so I don't do it wrong. And then we can go to sleep."

They had a kiss, which was just as nice as doing it in the dream, although there was a lot more readjusting for Childermass's nose being in the way, or where to put their tongues, and Mr Norrell's wig fell off somewhere in the middle when neither of them were paying any attention to it. Childermass seemed to like the look of him bareheaded, and no doubt looking...kissed. He liked the look of Childermass with even wilder hair, kiss-swollen lips and a lecherous expression. 

Then, so they could get used to it without the whole business of scars, they went to Mr Norrell's bedroom and took their clothes off, and Childermass lay on his back on the bed, while Mr Norrell tried to work out which bits he was permitted to touch, which seemed to be 'all of it'.

Childermass had nice feet, which was a little unexpected, rather high-arched and strong. As for those long, muscular legs, perhaps that was where the whole problem had started, and he wanted to touch, not just with his hands.

Childermass said, "You really do like my legs, don't you?"

"Oh, yes. You don't mind if I...think about it a bit?" Not meaning with his brain, but he rather thought Childermass had noticed that.

"No. You have a nice little rub there, if you like," said Childermass, not as though he minded, so Mr Norrell sighed rapturously and worked his eager cock-stand against Childermass's thigh. He wanted it so very badly by now, he could barely think, and he said, "please, please...I _want_ to!" and rutted there. Then Childermass reached down and played with his balls. That was even better, because as well as those lovely hard fingertips stroking him where he was so sensitive, as well as the feelings making his toes curl, there was the thought that Childermass might actually _let_ him...

Childermass said, "Can't stop yourself, can you?" and suddenly a rush of hot pleasure rose from his balls, and he _couldn't_ stop himself coming, making noises, in a frenzy of mindless greed as he spilled on Childermass. 

"Was that what you wanted?" said Childermass, and Mr Norrell laughed shakily and said, "Some of it. Although I apologise for the mess." He was somewhat worried, as he fell back on the bed. "I didn't even ask if you had conceived a distaste for...that."

Childermass said, "Huh. Don't mind it, thinking you wanted me that much." He scooped it up in his hand, and sniffed it, getting noticeably harder. 

Mr Norrell found that embarrassing, and disgraceful, and sort-of-somewhat exciting, the thought that Childermass too was aroused by what he had been doing. By knowing Mr Norrell had wanted him, rubbed on him, come on him.

"You didn't want me to be be handsome, or unmarked, or anything I wasn't," said Childermass, half-closing his eyes. "You didn't even want me to do anything particularly exotic."

Mr Norrell encouraged him with a sigh. "You don't have to do much to make me happy, Childermass," he said. "What do you like?"

"I'm fairly simple," said Childermass. "I like being touched by someone who likes touching me, that's a start."

So Mr Norrell started touching his feet again, then up his beautiful, beautiful legs, but this time went all the way up and stopped to fondle his balls and prick. "I don't know how I managed to keep my eyes off you any of the time," he admitted. "Centaur or not, the part I was talking to was usually a naked man." He was enjoying it, taking a wicked pleasure in the effect he was having and being allowed to touch. The prick itself was hard, hot, restless, and the balls were heavy enough to serve such an impressive instrument. 

"Well, you had no reason to suppose I was interested. I doubt I _was_ interested before walking your dreams gave me a view of what you were after," said Childermass. "I don't think you'd have felt safe asking me if you could feel me up."

"Certainly not, it is quite beneath my dignity--What?" Mr Norrell demanded, as his comment elicited not only a laugh but a stiffening in the organ in his hands.

"You going all proper again, just's if you're there in your chair reading one of your books, when you've just been so excited you came on my leg like a badly-trained dog, and you've got my prick in your hands." He leered at Mr Norrell cheerfully. "I like being the exception to your rules."

"You always have been, you know," said Mr Norrell. "I doubt I'd have done all this for anyone else." He might have felt sorry for someone else the unfortunate incident had happened to, might have felt responsible, but he wouldn't have gone out riding, found his dreams haunted, worked with quite so much intensity to get them free. He couldn't imagine anyone but Childermass he'd have known this well, and wanted this way. He really couldn't imagine touching anyone else intimately. 

Oh, he could see the look on Childermass's face, and how relaxed he seemed giving himself up to the pleasure. He was beginning to rock and thrust in Mr Norrell's hands, trying to get more, and Norrell murmured something reassuring: yes, he'd stay here as long as he was needed. He couldn't get hard again already, but he had a somewhat theoretical interest in proceedings. Mainly that he could watch this for some time, finding out how Childermass liked it. 

Childermass moved his hands on him, and Mr Norrell said, "Good. I like to know what you want."

"Hard and fast, by now," said Childermass, and Mr Norrell did it, utterly concentrating and murmuring a spell for increased energy under his breath as he did it; what on him would be painfully rough was on Childermass bracingly firm. Childermass thrust up twice into his hands, and groaned, and spent. Mr Norrell felt the power of it, seeing that clever face, always the master of its own reactions, twisted in a passion. Childermass gasped for breath as he fell back. Mr Norrell reached out and laid a hand on him; he was sweating and his breath was still going hard. They rested for a few minutes. 

Then Childermass chuckled deeply, and said, "Don't think I didn't notice you cheating, but you made a good job of that anyway."

"Childermass, do you have some sort of sense for magic?" Mr Norrell thought he ought to be somewhat cross, but couldn't manage it just now. 

"Not in a way that ought to worry you, sir," said Childermass. "I have no intention of devoting my life to it, surpassing you, or even giving myself what you might consider an education. I have a feel for it sometimes, like a tickling in my head. I couldn't tell what you were doing then."

"Increased energy," said Mr Norrell. "It's one of the few I don't have to check, because I use it so frequently. I was trying to make it more physical." _Because my hands were going to fall off if I held that pace for very long,_ he thought. 

"Well, you did very nicely for me. Thank you," said Childermass, and Mr Norrell yawned and said, "Shall we go to sleep now?" He was feeling quite unusually restful considering there was someone else in the room. Pulling some blankets up, he managed to contrive some sort of nest out of them and Childermass, and went to sleep in it. 

He was dimly aware that Childermass was complaining about "need to be able to _breathe,_ sir!" so he slackened his grip somewhat, and settled again. His head was tucked in beneath Childermass's chin, and he felt warm and sleepy. 

 

 

He woke up on his own, a little surprised at that. Didn't people usually stay there for a while?

But he didn't see Childermass until Childermass brought in the letters that had come in that morning, nodded at him, and settled down to some work.

Mr Norrell didn't mind that. There was always work to be done, and maybe bed-things were strictly for the hours of darkness: how would he have guessed?

Only...only he would have liked to do it again, he realised slowly. He wanted to find out what Childermass liked. He wanted to try other things _he_ might like. Let alone all that, he wanted to do it all again, because he'd enjoyed it.

So a few days later, he waited all day, then went and had a nice bath, and went back to the library in his night clothes. He did some reading, to get his courage up, then said, "Childermass, will you come to bed?" without looking at him.

Childermass snorted. "Well, that's to the point!"

"I've tried not wanting to," said Mr Norrell, as a point of accuracy. "I just wasn't especially good at it."

Childermass sighed. "I thought you'd find the thrill of it had worn off once you'd tried it, sir."

"When have I ever been that sort of man!" protested Mr Norrell. He knew Childermass knew that about him. Once he took to a matter of taste, like magical learning or sweet chocolate or a daily routine, it tended to stay taken-to (except when his awkward senses decided the world was simply too loud too quiet too salt too sour too harsh and he needed to rest). 

"Does it mean _you've_ gone off it?" Mr Norrell asked, after a moment.

"Come on, give's a kiss, and we'll see how it goes," said Childermass.

"What, in the _library?"_ said Mr Norrell, rather shocked.

"You're the one who started it off here." Childermass made exaggerated kissing gestures.

In case Childermass thought better of it, then, Mr Norrell climbed into his lap and kissed him soundly. It was exceedingly pleasant.

He drew back long enough to say, "I should have done that before!"

"You look nice like that. Well-kissed," said Childermass. He pinched Mr Norrell through his night-breeches, then reached round the front and stroked him until he moaned, at which Childermass observed, "You're wearing too much."

"No, I'm not. 'Too much' would be 'enough to stop you'," said Mr Norrell, who was glad not to be wearing his day-clothes.

Childermass slapped him on the bum and said, "Well, aren't _you_ the tarty little article!"

"Childermass!" But it was nice to be here, warm and slightly-scandalised, as Childermass slipped a hand under the skirt of Mr Norrell's night-shirt and into the back of his night-breeches to fondle him. Except he was so _dreadfully_ ready his prick was dripping. "I shouldn't want to make an embarrassment of myself in the library!" he admitted, meaning exactly what he said. He _shouldn't_ want what he did want.

"Steady on then, sir, on your feet!" said Childermass accommodatingly.

Mr Norrell sighed, swayed, and got up. He asked Childermass to use the suggestion to keep people's eyes off them, so they quickly got back to his bedroom even while he was not looking all that respectable.

"All right, what d'you fancy, sir?" Childermass asked, once they were alone.

Mr Norrell stripped impatiently, fumbling rather with the buttons, and went to his hands and knees on the bed. Then he looked round and said, "What?" when Childermass didn't immediately accommodate his wishes.

"You do remember I'm lacking in experience?" said Childermass.

"Oh!" said Mr Norrell. "I'd completely forgotten! It was your fault for calling me a 'tarty little article'," he complained. "It made me think wicked thoughts." He considered. "I wouldn't know the difference, would I? You could simply pretend you know what you're doing, and then the next time you _would_ know what you were doing!"

Childermass snorted at Mr Norrell's perfectly-logical suggestion. "I'm sure people get hurt that way."

"Well, then, remember the parts that were uncomfortable to you, and don't do it that way."

"That's not a completely stupid suggestion," said Childermass thoughtfully. "If you let me lead, and we take our time, that's the best possible way we could do this. I'm not going to want to push ahead too roughly when I remember what it's like from the other side."

Childermass did take his time over it. First he cut his nails neatly, then he went for some pleasantly-scented oil. He undressed, then he rubbed that all over his hands. Then he used it to stroke Mr Norrell slowly from nape to tailbone, whispering in his ear about how nice it felt. 

Mr Norrell didn't say anything, but moaned.

Then Childermass touched his sensitive inner thighs, and said if they were in too much of a hurry for fucking, he could just grease him there and go at it. "Remember that, sir, there's always options. Now, I could use the oil, but something thicker could work better for the important bits. What d'you use on yourself?"

Mr Norrell considered pretending he had a mind on higher concerns than masturbation most of the time, then decided it would only slow down getting what he wanted. So he directed Childermass to a pot of grease in the bedside table, and shut his eyes. 

The sound of the jar being opened, then, and a big fingertip sliding right round his sensitive hole. He gasped.

"Did that hurt?"

"No!" It felt strange, skittish and sluttish and _disturbed,_ as if something had woken up in him he hadn't thought of. But it didn't hurt. It was just that despite having had a few interesting fantasies about being buggered, especially since this affair had started, he didn't happen to have tried fingering himself there when he masturbated.

Childermass did it again. Several times. Then he started slipping a finger in and out, gently, for quite a while. Two fingertips were distinctly uncomfortable, but when he made a quiet noise, Childermass stopped and waited, even though Mr Norrell thought it sounded not particularly different from the noises he had made when he felt more enthusiastic.

It was strange that he'd felt the difference in width between one fingertip and two, because he was so relaxed a while later he didn't notice two fingers sliding into him at once, just _that's a large finger,_ and then _oh!_ But the surprise didn't make him jump, then, just gave him a languid feeling of _I wonder how long I can do this without having to stop._ So he did, for a while, letting his mind go blank.

Childermass chuckled gently as he slid his hand away, and said, "That was three. Someone once told me it's possible to get your whole hand in it. I'd never have believed it till now."

Mr Norrell jumped, minutely, and said, "Can I have a look?"

"Mm?" 

"The relative size of your... your prick and your hand." 

Childermass came and stood where he could see him. Despite feeling foolish about his stammer and not knowing what he was about, Mr Norrell found it startlingly exciting to have such a big man in front of him, obedient to his desire.

"I think we should consider that as an advanced lesson," he said. "Will you fuck me now, please?" and then dropped his blushing face and moaned slightly, because despite being as polite and straightforward as he could think to, the words sounded _absolutely filthy_ as they came out.

Childermass just said, "Of course, sir," and greased him even more, then prepared himself.

It felt a lot thicker than fingers, and the rounded end instead of nails was decidedly pleasant.

Mr Norrell hissed through his teeth as Childermass treated him to a slow, rocking stroke.

"All right?" said Childermass.

"I think so," said Mr Norrell, who would have assumed some sort of brutal thrusting to be the order of the day, and, "Oh!" as the combination of real gentleness with imagined brutality did something interesting to his insides. He pushed back. There was more. Childermass retreated to advance, and Mr Norrell said, "Please!" but then flinched a little when Childermass went in harder.

"I'm still tryin' t' work out if you want it rough or gentle!" said Childermass, rather breathlessly.

Mr Norrell said, "Can we think rough and do gentle?" Hoping that this made some sort of sense.

He felt rather than heard Childermass's deep chuckle against his back. "Trust you to make it up!" But then Childermass breathed softly in his ear, and said, "I'm going to fuck you till your eyes cross and your tongue's hanging out!" and he wailed.

"You won't be able to walk straight," Childermass continued. "Everyone will be able to see what you've been up to when you can barely sit down. You're going to squirm. You're going to leak."

Mr Norrell shut his eyes to concentrate on what he could hear. "When I'm in practice, I'm going to ram it up you so hard you'll taste it for the next week!" Childermass went on, and he must have opened the jar of grease at some point, because as well as hearing all the lovely naughty things Childermass was saying, Mr Norrell suddenly felt the big wet hand round his own prick, and he was coming so hard he could barely breathe, and Childermass was sweating and swearing and filling him the instant after.

Despite the wicked things he had said, Childermass cleaned them both up perfectly gently. "Let's get you ready for bed, then."

Mr Norrell was happy to have a hand with his night-clothes. He rather thought he was half-asleep, with ten thumbs and no fingers, compared to how he'd felt taking his night-clothes off.

"Will you come to bed?" he asked, with a yawn. 

"Wasn't that where all this started?" said Childermass, grinning at him.

"Yes. And now I want to sleep, and you can keep me warm."

"Demoted to being a human warming-pan," Childermass sighed, and went to get a spare night-shirt. 

"But you don't feel the cold." He worried. Childermass wouldn't be half as useful if he was sensitive to cold and didn't ride out in winter, and Mr Norrell would have to be careful to think about it and not make him. (Also, even if he himself was dressed for bed, it would feel a lot nicer to half-wake-up in the middle of the night with his cheek pressed to some part of Childermass's warm skin).

Childermass said, "Not that, sir. I don't want you touching my back, and you might if you're only half-awake."

"I'm sorry," said Mr Norrell, who (between mice and street-sorcerers, among other things) had some idea how annoying it was when people forgot one's little weaknesses and expected one to cope. He reached out and patted Childermass's hand.

"All right. It's a compliment to me if I fucked the wits clean out of you, anyway."

"Childermass!" hissed Mr Norrell.

"There was I thinking you liked the word," said Childermass mildly.

Mr Norrell giggled unwillingly. He supposed it was a little odd how much his tastes in language changed depending on his state of dress, or respectability, or something. It wasn't even that he'd been exactly un-embarrassable at the time, when Childermass was talking dirty to him, but the embarrassment had mixed with the excitement to make it tolerable.

"Come on, then, sir," said Childermass. 

They settled gently together. Mr Norrell carefully found a spot where he was nestling his face between Childermass's chin and throat. It was even warmer than the way he usually slept in the winter.

"Don't drool on me," said Childermass, "or bite."

"I'm sure I could never be persuaded to do such uncivilised things," mumbled Mr Norrell into Childermass.

"Ouch, I definitely felt a hint of teeth there," said Childermass.

"Mm. Don't go away."

Childermass said, "Of course I will. You don't want to wake up at half-five in morning just because I need to.get about my work. You want a nice lazy sleep."

"I didn't like waking up on my own," said Mr Norrell. 

The next morning he woke up in a chilly, lonely bed. He sighed. Then he noted an envelope beside the bed, and reached for his glasses as he took a neat corner of paper out.

"Out after an estate sale with three books you called Dangerous Nonsense, six books you called Illiterate and one book you called Ludicrously Fanciful. Back probably Thursday week." It was unsigned.

Norrell sighed. Sometimes he found it slightly hard to keep track of exactly which forms of opprobrium he had cast on which book, which was no doubt why Childermass had put it that way.

But there was something remaining in the envelope. He took it out. It was a very thoroughly-folded page from a book. When he pressed it flat, it turned out to be a page of verse from Catullus. Latin verse was, he supposed, reasonably discreet in this household, since the only people likely to be able to read it were the sender and the recipient.

He looked again.

The word for "kiss" was hurriedly underlined in pencil.

He kissed his own fingertip and pressed it to that word.

Even though he had to get up earlier, the resourceful Childermass had left him a message.

He sighed. He didn't _want_ to wait for Thursday week (his prick certainly didn't!) but it was much more bearable knowing there was a fixed term to waiting.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Mr. Norrell`s unexpected fantasies](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6155350) by [wandarer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wandarer/pseuds/wandarer)




End file.
